Dhani laughs in your arms, tangling his tiny fingers in your silky hair, tugging with the clumsy strength of children who have yet to learn how to measure love. His eyes the same as his father’s look up at you with a devotion you've only seen in him, in George. You like walking with Dhani through the halls.

There was no raven. No warning. No wolf banner fluttering in the breeze. Nothing to announce his arrival.

You know it by the silence.

The kind of silence that falls like a weight when the servants suddenly stop. When the candles seem to tremble. When the sea breeze no longer sounds like comfort, but like presence.

You turn, still holding Dhani in your arms.

And there he is.

George. Older now, sterner, still beautiful in that quiet, sorrowful way he carries from the North. His fur cloak is soaked with the fog of the journey.

George doesn’t answer right away. His gaze drops to his son. He looks at him. There is no reproach—but there is distance. The distance of a wolf who has smelled a lie.

“I didn’t know you had so much to do in Lys.”

The name of the city falls like a stone into the sea. Dhani squirms a little, but you rock him gently, keeping calm, keeping your expression composed. No one in the realm could match you in that: the flawless mask, the guarded soul.

“Trade… alliances… you know how it is.” Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.